


revolutionary bros

by thebriars



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: M/M, Written Backstage, hurrrrrrrr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-28 17:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12611316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebriars/pseuds/thebriars
Summary: It was cold when John rode into camp.He had caught wind of a battalion of redcoats coming south along the same road he traveled north on, spurring him to veer into the woods and canter through the night. He was paying for it now, he supposed.Alexander had written all night long. He knew he couldn't go on like that and he knew his body yearned for a break, but the stack of letters that needed responded was enticing.So he awoke to a clang, a curse, and the prick of a quill in his cheek. He blinked and rubbed at the sleep in his eyes, proceeding to smear ink across his face, and glanced up."My dearest Hamilton. What in the devil were you thinking?" Lafayette tapped his foot, a bemused expression in his eyes.guess who meetsdamn right it's lams





	revolutionary bros

It was cold when John rode into camp.

He had caught wind of a battalion of redcoats coming south along the same road he traveled north on, spurring him to veer into the woods and canter through the night. He was paying for it now, he supposed. John's horse panted beneath him, despite the trot they had slowed into. The gray of the morning sent exhaustion into his bones. A hard night's ride and a storm of anxiety made his stomach churn and his head feel heavy.

John could hear the camp now. The crackling of fires starting up and the boisterous noise of a pub multiplied many times over. His heart thrummed to the tune of a drum beat in the distance. He slowed the stallion to a walk.

"Your business?"

The sentry was young. Too young. Perhaps seventeen- no more than twenty- but he carried his rifle as though it were an extra arm. There was a gruffness in his voice, even though it had yet to drop into the deep tones of a man. He squared his shoulders and strode up to John as he pulled to poor steed to a stop.

"John Laurens, aide-de-camp to the General. Uh, I have a letter..." John fumbled in his coat for the slip of paper, ignoring the sentry's doubtful stare. "Ah, here. Orders from the Marquis."

The sentry popped open the seal, taking in the fancy pattern in the wax. He glanced it over, frowned, and nodded. "Proceed."

John let out a breath he hadn't know he held in.

He rode on.

\---

Alexander had written all night long. He knew he couldn't go on like that and he knew his body yearned for a break, but the stack of letters that needed responded was enticing.

So he awoke to a clang, a curse, and the prick of a quill in his cheek. He blinked and rubbed at the sleep in his eyes, proceeding to smear ink across his face, and glanced up.

"My dearest Hamilton. What in the devil were you thinking?" Lafayette tapped his foot, a bemused expression in his eyes.

"Gil, you do not understand. The letters had to be answered."

"And now you have spilled ink on them all."

Alexander swore and jumped up. He had indeed, seeming to have knocked the ink well over in his sleep. When had he succumbed? He didn't recall planning on resting at all.

"Come now. Wash up. Laurens arrives today."

"Ugh, this Laurens fellow. I do not see his appeal. A rich boy from the south. He is here because of his family and his money and you know it. I only hope his writing is passable."

"I assure you that he is eloquent. We have corresponded briefly and I find him suitable." Lafayette took a seat on Alexander's cot. "Hurry up; there's work to be done and new aides to meet."

Alexander shook his finger at Gil. "You had better be right." He scrubbed the ink from his face, staring hopelessly into the mirror at the dark circles under his eyes and the ink staining the ends of his hair.

"If only your hair was dark, Hamilton," Gil sighed. Alexander huffed. He'd despised his flaming locks back on Nevis, where they stood stark against the crowd of brunettes. But now it seemed to draw the women to him, like moths to a flame, if the moths were delicate butterflies with towering wigs for antennae and bright, sweeping dresses for wings.

"I know, Gil. Why am I so pasty? It cannot be healthy look look this pale."

"Mon ami, staying up all night writing letters until your eyes are framed in indigo is not good either. Since when have you care of health?"

"Oh, Gil, you do not understand."

Lafayette grinned. "That marks the second time you have said that today. At this rate, i doubt I will have any self confidence at the end of the day. Is the ink off? Let's ride on."

\---

It was bleak when John rode up to headquarters.

A lineup of men greeted him at the door, backs straight and lips tight. They watched him. He could feel it.

John could feel their eyes. He knew were smart, not only from their positions close to the General himself, but from the weight of their stares. They analyzed him and he knew it.

Not as if he wasn't analyzing them, too.

Exhaustion. Hands gripped tight, clinging to slips of hope and shards of success. Eyes narrowed, faces warn, but there was still happiness.

Some men thrived in war.

John Laurens was one of them. He slowed his horse once more, eyes ahead on the horizon. He dismounted gracefully, feet landing steadily on the ground. He patted his steed, giving the aides more time to size him up. He knew what they were doing and he played that knowledge like the strings of his violin.

He strode to the door, to the man he assumed to be the General. Removed his hat and pressed it to his chest.

"Laurens."

"Your Excellency."

The man broke into a grin, clapping his hand on the shorter man's shoulder. "Welcome to camp. I hope your ride was good?"

John smiled. "Yes, sir. As enjoyable as I believe it could be."

"Fine, fine." Washington paused, letting out a slow breath, eyes on something far off in the tree tops. He started as though someone had kicked him. "Ah! I forget myself. Come, now, I suppose you wish to meet your coworkers."

"Yes, sir."

"Good man. Tilghman!"

**Author's Note:**

> well here we go we're chipping away at the writers block


End file.
